Isla Morin stepped through the small door, shining a more vivid red than ever in the sunset, and into the pub. She always wondered whether frequenting other bars broke some sacred rule of bartending; it certainly did not do her wallet any favors. But while the Hedge Witch was certainly more her scene, sometimes she just wanted to take a break from it all and sit back with a drink in relaxation. The Red Shoe Pub offered just that, and Isla felt her shoulders relax as the smell of toasted sandwiches and the clamor of carefree conversation slipped into her senses.
Amidst all of this, however, was a tingle. Every sensation carried a charge with it, the charge of the realm-in-between. Isla was on a cozy island in Nova Scotia, but at the same time she wasn’t; she was in the land of Fae, but at the same time she wasn’t. These pockets appeared sometimes, and with them came wonder to those on both sides. Human and fae alike filled the room, and the pub felt as if it were the only building within a hundred miles of impossible forest despite how Isla had parked her car just outside.
Jack stood behind the bar as always. He seemed able to split his body in two, arms wiping the already clean countertop as he smiled and chatted with customers, neither part affecting the actions of the other. The pub was packed, but that was the responsibility of the servers. Jack's realm was the bar, and he ran it with care and compassion, hole in reality or not. This far from the hotpots of overlap, the pub was still the pub and his bar was still his bar, even if Fae leaked into existence.
Isla made her way between tables and found the last seat at the bar. She sat, letting the room flood into her senses, absorbing them. Humans paid their servers in coin and fae traded for food in gifts and favor. It wasn't long before Jack interrupted her observations.
“Ah, the mistress linguist herself! Allons quelque part moins bruyant.” Jack had a way of speaking with energy but not volume. Anyone else would have shouted the way he said those words. He began wiping the surface between them. “Barring that, what can I get you to drink?”
She couldn't help but smile when he struck up conversation; few could. Such traits were invaluable for a bartender.
“Essayez de perdre quinze ans,” Isla replied with a grin. “And your accent is terrible.” Jack laughed at that, and she couldn't help it either. “Get me something with bourbon and a fae fruit garnish.”
“Ooh, someone got tipped well today.”
Limited supply of fruit from another world made it expensive, but the honey-like scent of its slicing from all the way across the bar could tell anyone it was worth it. On occasion.
With the scent in Isla’s nose came visions. Trees everywhere, a statue amidst them, and… someone. She shook the image away. They were useful things to have, these visions, but she honestly just saw them as inconvenient. Thankfully, they tended to fade away from her memory quickly, like a dream you forgot to write down.
Jack slid the violet-tinted drink across the bar and Isla abandoned her train of thought to savor its flavor. Ethereal sweetness, cherry-oak whisky, and... was that earl grey? The man was a genius. Isla let the drink roll across her tongue as she determined never to admit that to him. As Isla basked in the warmth of the drink, she allowed the rest of the room to fill her mind when she finally noticed something above the chatter.
“Is there a band in the back room?” She could barely them.
“Yeah, they’re called Mother Oak, and their guitarist is the only thing stopping them from giving in to that crap you kids listen to these days.”
Isla chuckled before leaving her tip on the bar top and moving towards the music. “La beauté est dans l'oeil de celui qui regarde.”
Conversation still flowed in the back room, but less of it. The remainder of that noise was taken up by the band atop what could barely be considered a stage. After only a couple of bars, Isla could see what Jack meant about their music.
The drummer pounded a standard rock beat, and a bassline commanded presence, but the guitar and vocals carried the music. Progressions and arpeggios familiar to the crowd’s ears bridged the gap between patrons and players. The humans in the room were mostly twenty-somethings connecting with the modern technique, while the fae in the room were captivated by the modification of the music they had known so well. As the band finished playing, a gentle applause filled the room before dying back down.
“Thank you, we are Mother Oak, and we’re going to take a break now for some food and drink from this fine establishment. But we’ll be back up here later tonight, so don’t you go anywhere.”
The band moved between tables on their way to the bar, stopping for quick chats with those who waved them down. As the guitarist left a conversation with a squat, winged faerie, Isla caught his eye. “You can certainly play towards a crowd as mixed as this,” she said before nursing her cocktail.
“Well we can’t just ignore the world around us,” the guitarist replied. “Music today is amazing, but we can’t just abandon what we’ve built for centuries. What, is it too calm for your taste?”
“Nah, it’s actually beautiful.” Isla smiled, her drink giving her a warm glow. “You didn’t just play music, you made it.”
Isla didn’t think she would enjoy the band if she heard them in passing, but something about the way they had been playing tonight had stirred her interest. Or perhaps it was simply the setting. A drink from another world, alcohol freeing her thoughts, and that charge in the air as beings of all shapes moved through the pub. She simply felt happy, and the music she’d heard felt right for that mood.
She held out her hand. “Isla.”
They shook hands. “Clement,” he replied.
As he Clement grasped her hand, Isla recognized him, even though they had never met. He was in her vision, one she had already forgotten. She couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“What are you doing once you finish playing?” Isla began to sip at her drink again, failing to wear an innocent face.
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, but there was still a smile on his face.
“The moon is full tonight; how do you feel about a hike through the woods?”
Clement laughed, a laugh she could hear atop the invigorated noise of the room. The charge of the air was getting to him as well.
Amidst all of this, however, was a tingle. Every sensation carried a charge with it, the charge of the realm-in-between. Isla was on a cozy island in Nova Scotia, but at the same time she wasn’t; she was in the land of Fae, but at the same time she wasn’t. These pockets appeared sometimes, and with them came wonder to those on both sides. Human and fae alike filled the room, and the pub felt as if it were the only building within a hundred miles of impossible forest despite how Isla had parked her car just outside.
Jack stood behind the bar as always. He seemed able to split his body in two, arms wiping the already clean countertop as he smiled and chatted with customers, neither part affecting the actions of the other. The pub was packed, but that was the responsibility of the servers. Jack's realm was the bar, and he ran it with care and compassion, hole in reality or not. This far from the hotpots of overlap, the pub was still the pub and his bar was still his bar, even if Fae leaked into existence.
Isla made her way between tables and found the last seat at the bar. She sat, letting the room flood into her senses, absorbing them. Humans paid their servers in coin and fae traded for food in gifts and favor. It wasn't long before Jack interrupted her observations.
“Ah, the mistress linguist herself! Allons quelque part moins bruyant.” Jack had a way of speaking with energy but not volume. Anyone else would have shouted the way he said those words. He began wiping the surface between them. “Barring that, what can I get you to drink?”
She couldn't help but smile when he struck up conversation; few could. Such traits were invaluable for a bartender.
“Essayez de perdre quinze ans,” Isla replied with a grin. “And your accent is terrible.” Jack laughed at that, and she couldn't help it either. “Get me something with bourbon and a fae fruit garnish.”
“Ooh, someone got tipped well today.”
Limited supply of fruit from another world made it expensive, but the honey-like scent of its slicing from all the way across the bar could tell anyone it was worth it. On occasion.
With the scent in Isla’s nose came visions. Trees everywhere, a statue amidst them, and… someone. She shook the image away. They were useful things to have, these visions, but she honestly just saw them as inconvenient. Thankfully, they tended to fade away from her memory quickly, like a dream you forgot to write down.
Jack slid the violet-tinted drink across the bar and Isla abandoned her train of thought to savor its flavor. Ethereal sweetness, cherry-oak whisky, and... was that earl grey? The man was a genius. Isla let the drink roll across her tongue as she determined never to admit that to him. As Isla basked in the warmth of the drink, she allowed the rest of the room to fill her mind when she finally noticed something above the chatter.
“Is there a band in the back room?” She could barely them.
“Yeah, they’re called Mother Oak, and their guitarist is the only thing stopping them from giving in to that crap you kids listen to these days.”
Isla chuckled before leaving her tip on the bar top and moving towards the music. “La beauté est dans l'oeil de celui qui regarde.”
Conversation still flowed in the back room, but less of it. The remainder of that noise was taken up by the band atop what could barely be considered a stage. After only a couple of bars, Isla could see what Jack meant about their music.
The drummer pounded a standard rock beat, and a bassline commanded presence, but the guitar and vocals carried the music. Progressions and arpeggios familiar to the crowd’s ears bridged the gap between patrons and players. The humans in the room were mostly twenty-somethings connecting with the modern technique, while the fae in the room were captivated by the modification of the music they had known so well. As the band finished playing, a gentle applause filled the room before dying back down.
“Thank you, we are Mother Oak, and we’re going to take a break now for some food and drink from this fine establishment. But we’ll be back up here later tonight, so don’t you go anywhere.”
The band moved between tables on their way to the bar, stopping for quick chats with those who waved them down. As the guitarist left a conversation with a squat, winged faerie, Isla caught his eye. “You can certainly play towards a crowd as mixed as this,” she said before nursing her cocktail.
“Well we can’t just ignore the world around us,” the guitarist replied. “Music today is amazing, but we can’t just abandon what we’ve built for centuries. What, is it too calm for your taste?”
“Nah, it’s actually beautiful.” Isla smiled, her drink giving her a warm glow. “You didn’t just play music, you made it.”
Isla didn’t think she would enjoy the band if she heard them in passing, but something about the way they had been playing tonight had stirred her interest. Or perhaps it was simply the setting. A drink from another world, alcohol freeing her thoughts, and that charge in the air as beings of all shapes moved through the pub. She simply felt happy, and the music she’d heard felt right for that mood.
She held out her hand. “Isla.”
They shook hands. “Clement,” he replied.
As he Clement grasped her hand, Isla recognized him, even though they had never met. He was in her vision, one she had already forgotten. She couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“What are you doing once you finish playing?” Isla began to sip at her drink again, failing to wear an innocent face.
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, but there was still a smile on his face.
“The moon is full tonight; how do you feel about a hike through the woods?”
Clement laughed, a laugh she could hear atop the invigorated noise of the room. The charge of the air was getting to him as well.
“You know what? Why not.”